


C is for COMMUOVERE

by SteelandSilk (SilkCut)



Series: Cherik Alphabet Theme Challenge [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Almost meeting, F/M, Ferrucio Busoni, First Love, Gen, Healing, Piano Concerto, Survivors, mental health, music therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkCut/pseuds/SteelandSilk
Summary: Charles meets his first love whilst Erik grieves losing his own.





	C is for COMMUOVERE

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**COMMUOVERE**

.  
.  
.

_to stir, to touch_

 

✹  

_to move to tears_

.  
.  
.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

✦✹✧  

 

Ｉｓｒａｅｌ, １９５５

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you sure about this, Charles?" Gabrielle lurked behind him the entire time as they made their way to the conservatory located on the outskirts of the main facility. 

He glanced over his shoulder before he slowed down a few steps so he can stand face-to-face with her once more. His hand stroked her cheek; it was a mild gesture that concealed the depths of affection he's begun to harbor in just a few short weeks.

"Don't you trust me, Gabi?" he asked.

She gazed back at him nervously. Her pair of almond eyes was striking to Charles; it was the first thing he ever noticed about her on the night she roused from her comatose. With a weary nod, she answered, "I do, but isn't going there without permission from the head nurse a little, I don't know,  _reckless_?"

"By Jove, Gabi, live a little, won't you?" His chuckle was teasing as he pinched the same cheek he'd been touching earlier, "You of all people deserve it, if I may say so boldly myself."

Charles used his other hand to adjust the scarf around her neck. The warmth that emanated from her skin caused a rather paradoxical shiver to run down his spine, which left him  _tingly_ in ways he knew he had to ignore. But as he stood before Gabrielle during this spectacular autumn afternoon, he could not help but lose himself in the scent of Fall mingling with her own that's as inviting as nothing he had ever known.

"Fine," said woman at last acquiesced but not before she gave him a dismissive roll of her eyes, "But if they asked whose fault it was, then I'll just say that you have become a very bad influence on me, Mr. Marko."

There was a cheeky smile that graced her lips afterwards, though she might as well have shot an arrow right through his chest due to that. Surprising Charles next, Gabrielle grabbed his gloved hand and together they marched forward to the conservatory that stood merely ten feet away.

The conclave in question was a modest set-up of glass roofing and walls as the surrounding windows were lined with ivory white columns. A staircase made of iron railings of the same color served as an archway that stretched to opposite ends, both of which lead to the main door at the very center. Everything about the conservatory looked pristine from afar, but closer scrutiny would reveal that some of its parts have chipped away due to weather corrosion and the usual neglect. 

But it was beautiful nonetheless. According to one of the more senior volunteers Charles has spoken to during his third day working here, the conservatory itself even served as an old greenhouse before the subsequent building it was attached to was turned into a mental health care facility a decade later. Much of the hospital was Victorian in architectural style, seeing as it used to be a private property the bank had seized when the married couple who lived in it abandoned the abode so suddenly. If rumors were to be believed, both man and wife disappeared without a trace since they were either on the run from the government, or they were killed by thugs they had been involved in some illegal business with.

Charles couldn't care less about the tawdry history concerning the previous owners. After all, it would have been much simpler of him if he just used his telepathy to sift through any lingering impressions left among the rubble and concrete of the house. But, alas, he had no interest to garner if there was any truth to the gossip since he preferred to work in peace during his stay here. This job was important to the twenty-four-year old heir, who also happened to have suppressed details of his affluent background in favor of dedicating himself to this charitable cause as anonymously as he could manage.

It was an odd choice to go by his stepfather's surname in his employment documents, especially since he never had a high opinion of the man to begin with. But perhaps it stemmed from a part of Charles who still wanted to do right for Kurt and Cain by ensuring in some form that their name would be a legacy synonymous to humanitarian deeds. Patronizing? Maybe, but it was a penance he felt he must carry on through nonetheless.

The only time he ever used his powers in during his stay was because of her—Gabrielle Haller. 

On his first week, he had been assigned to the east wing on the upper floors where an unconscious Gabrielle was also laid to rest. She had been non-responsive for five years, much like a few others. Informed by the head nurse that this particular ward housed survivors of the Holocaust, Charles decided to do something unexpected, which was to read his favorite poetry to these patients. He would sit by their beds with a book or two and recite lines he believed can soothe them in their sleep. In a serene posture that was at once mighty and compassionate, he resembled a lighthouse made into man; one who illuminated the dark waters of the ocean that has swept away these men and women whom he provided life rafts imbued in poems.

The other volunteers told the rest of the hospital staff about his bizarre nightly ritual, and they either made light fun or thought it pathetic of the young man to even bother with something that to them was ultimately superfluous, if not unproductive.   

It had been a decade since the brutal era of the Nazis, but the wounds have yet to scab, if at all, and there were more holes in its victims than the moon itself bore craters. How could a telepath like Charles—troubled by his own private sorrow—not do anything to appease the terrorizing ache the people in this ward possessed? Has he not decided in the aftermath of Kurt's death that he will be kind?

_'And kinder still when inconvenient,'_  he vowed,  _'...and the kindest even if it breaks me.'_

In spite of their harrowing situation—ranging from comatose and drug-addled states—Charles still believed it was worth the endeavor to reach out to the patients through the works of Dickinson, Frost, Wordsworth and Whitman. Literature has been there for him growing up when everyone else wasn't, so it seemed only befitting that it should serve as companions to these lost souls as well. This practice may be perceived as naive, but he knew the power of a good story, especially one that's weaved in fervent hope of love and wholeness to be gained, if we just hold on for a few more scarce moments and pray that somebody, somehow, aspires for the same things we do and will cross our paths one day.

Charles' sheltered upbringing never eclipsed the maltreatment he endured, and though he may not share the exact horrors these people had been through under a regime that deemed them detestable freaks, he understood earth-shattering rejection in a very intimate way too, especially since he's indeed of a different specimen. The permeating solitude of that was a darkness he continued to battle yet hoped to harness into a beacon once he's finally strong enough.

Fast forward to today. Gabrielle's recovery had been an optimistic one so far, ever since the night he cured her of comatose using a hefty burst of his telepathic powers. He can acknowledge now at least, after spending a lot of time with her hence, that that there must have been a selfish reason too why he woke her up. Charles would rather deny the growing attraction though, even if he knew she shared it too.

"Well, it's rather quaint, isn't it?" She pushed the doors to the conservatory and walked into the very heart of the place. Refurnished with a few secondhand upholstery of sofa chairs and a table which has collected a coat of dust, the conclave had a nonetheless welcoming ambiance. It caught his eye weeks prior to inviting Gabrielle here, and that has more to do with what he spied was stored inside said place.

"Oh!" she squeezed Charles' hand as soon as her eyes rested upon the grand piano situated on the farther left corner, "You were right. They do have one here!"

He laughed as he squeezed her hand back, "Did you think I was lying? I didn't ask you here to do anything else but to help you play again."

The air changed slightly when she frowned, looking apprehensive yet again while she disentangled their hands. In haste to remedy what could be a grave misunderstanding, he added, "You've told me that you missed it—music, that is, and only rightly so. I heard you were quite the virtuoso, Gab. It'd be a shame now if you abandon playing altogether. Besides, I think it could be good for you too, no?"

"I don't know, Charles," she peered at the piano like it was some foreign object she was afraid would devour her, "Five years is no joke. And I haven't touched the keys even before my confinement. I, uh, stopped playing as soon as they started rounding us up."

She crossed her arms together in an attempt to enfold herself in an embrace, "It just didn't seem right to do anything remotely musical after that, if that makes any sense. There was hardly anything worth a tune or two, especially a happy one, not when everyone around you is—"

"You don't need to explain further," he rubbed the side of her arm before withdrawing soon after the contact in case his constant touching would make her feel crowded. It was also for Charles' own sake. He had to find it the hard way that, during delicate situations such as a trauma, a person could echo their feelings and thoughts with a deafening frequency that could leave a telepath in pieces if they weren't ready for such a projection. He certainly didn't expect the alarming rate it would occur around the facility. 

The experience was comparable to Sharon's grief when he felt it at five years old, only that the depths of pain and bitterness were ten times worse. Charles had no other option but to employ mental barriers so that he could avoid any unpleasant fallout, both on his end and another's very fragile mind.

Gabrielle should not be exempt from this. He's read her file, so he knew enough to decide that what she survived was something he would rather only see on ink and paper and not experience secondhand.

It didn't mean, of course, that he would ever fall in love with her less. In fact, perhaps, her tragedy was what made her so appealing and so easy for him to care for.

"You're so nice to me," she now offered a faint smile before turning her gaze back at the piano, "And I trust you, Charles. A lot. I suppose that scares me..." she stepped forward and grazed the ivory keys with her fingers. Her touch lacked any pressure even though it was easy to tell she wanted to press a key and hear it sing.

She looked back at him, "...but that's all on me. I first need to work on those issues, right? Just because I've seen what monsters can do, it doesn't mean that the world only has more ugliness to give me."

"Not anymore it doesn't," he replied, keeping his gaze upon her the entire time.

Nodding,Gabrielle at last pushed a bar on the piano. The note came off flat but the sound seemed to move her nonetheless, given how her bottom lip quivered right after. She then said, " I...I don't want any more negativity in my future, let alone my present..."

Charles placed his palm over her hand. "You will get better, Gabi. I'm here to help every step of the way. We are good friends, and I never abandon any friend I've made. You can ask Raven that."

"I haven't seen her in a while," Gabrielle looked at him questioningly, "But the last time we spoke, she said something about joining a committee for a charity event? What was that about?"

"Oh, that," With a delighted grin, Charles explained, "It's actually a novel idea to raise awareness about the facility and in turn incur more donations from across neighboring cities. She's doing what she can with the help of other volunteers to promote the good we are doing here. In rich people's terms, she's invited potential donors to this upcoming function for the hospital."

He didn't tell Gabrielle that he was one of those donors. As far as she and the other staff knows, Charles was just a humble undergraduate who took a break from finishing a science degree (his third one, to be honest) so he can go to Israel because his 'adoptive sister' Raven wanted to travel and was only allowed to leave if she had a man with her. They even came up with this story in which Raven was the one who was raised with old money, going as far as creating an account in her chosen name 'Darkholme' which Charles, of course, funded from his own hefty inheritance. The ruse was never for malicious purposes; he wanted to be recognized not for his privilege whilst she wanted to use her made-up one for visibility such as by headlining a worthy cause. 

In the end, both Charles and Raven just wanted to be seen for the right reasons, if not wholly accepted.

"So, do you think we can make this work?" he glanced at the piano. In response, Gabrielle circled around it to inspect a few things. Charles only watched her with quiet appreciation the entire time. It is a true testament of one's feelings for another when even the most banal of circumstances could seem so magical just because the same two people are together. That's how it felt for Charles when he's with this woman; he cherished each second with a longing look and forgot himself in favor of knowing more about her.

 "Some of the keys just need tuning, but other than that I can play it," she told him.

"Do you have a piece you've wanted to play so badly? Something close to your heart, something you've missed more than anything?"

Gabrielle looked at him funny before she burst into laughter, citing, "I'm sorry! It's just that—everything is so dramatic with you, isn't it?" He didn't need to read her mind (and never had to) for him to detect the unmistakable affection in her tone as she spoke. "It's like you want even the smallest of things to matter. Does that make you a religious man then, Charles?"

"Hardly," he replied, shaking his head as he smiled, "But I do have faith, and that faith stems not from a supreme being governing all life but rather for life itself. And the people, surely! It's true that much of history will tell us that people are hateful and deceitful..." he trailed off only because he saw the creases of sorrow flicker across Gabrielle's features again, but he went on anyway, "...but for every rotten one is a hundred more good, I believe. That's why I try to give more chances than curses—forgiveness over grudges."

Leaning against the table behind him, he looked at the woman he cares for so much so he can tell her, "The world is never always going to be a loving place, but one person could be and for every person who is like that is a thousand more like him or her. I believe that because...I've felt it."

His choice of phrase hinted at something larger, because it was true in ways Gabrielle will probably never know herself. He almost touched his temple too when he declared that, as if to reveal that he had the power to access that any time, in any place, with any person.

The truth of the matter was that telepathy has given Charles a doorway to countless human minds over the years. He knew that everyone had a darkness, and yet in spite of the severity of that punishing loneliness, most can and have chosen to rise above it. 

Most importantly, people still love each other as if it had never broken them before. So yes, Charles had faith. He believed in people, regardless of the inconvenience or the rejection that it might come along with.

"God, I don't know what to make of you sometimes," she remarked right after she broke eye contact, seemingly embarrassed that she bore witness to that display of genuine goodness emanating from his very eyes down to the curve of his smiling lips. 

"And," she added, "To answer your question, I was thinking of playing Busoni—Ferrucio Busoni. He's an Italian composer and pianist, and my father...well, he liked a lot of his pieces. But I personally still enjoy his very first work to this day, although any expert would tell you it wasn't his best, considering he hasn't matured yet as a musician back when he composed the Preludes."

At the sight of her companion's questioning look, she knew she had to expound on her choice some more, so she pulled the bench under the piano for her to sit on. Charles did the same by selecting the closest sofa.

"Busoni was a prodigy, you see," she said, "He composed a piece called '24 Preludes, Opus 37, BV 181' at a young age. And yes, it wasn't as comparably excellent as his later works but...it just had an essence to it I find myself coming back to," she closed her eyes, as if she's begun to picture the notes floating behind them, "I could see him as this youth at the cusp of embarking what would become an illustrious career from then on. He didn't know it though, but his music absolutely did. It was like a separate being from him, coming alive under his fingertips on the keyboard."

She sighed through her nose and for a moment Charles could sense she must have forgotten for a minute where they are or what else is even happening. He was mildly tempted to meld minds with her. What a lovely place her mind must be at the moment, as she tackled her love for music he hopes to hear her play for him one day, if not soon.

"Ever possessed something so powerful? Ultimately, it isn't yours to keep anymore but rather to give to the the rest of the world. And that's what music was for Busoni and the other greats, because I think talent like that finds a way to reveal itself no matter what."

He could not help but smile knowingly. Perhaps, in time, he can tell Gabrielle the secrets of his own talent. She's proving day after day that she's the kind of person who chooses to understand without judging.

"You could hear it, Charles— even feel it—in each one of those twenty-four sections, that he was a musician who is meant for great things; just lend him your ear, and he will play you his dreams."

"Do you think you can do the same?" he interjected as he reached for a hand on her lap to clasp. The contact woke her from her brief reverie.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to play this Busoni piece, Gabi," Charles said, squeezing her hand, "The world deserves to hear music from you again. It's waited long enough."

"I..." she glanced nervously at their hands then at the piano keys beside her. He could see her eyes moisten a bit as she stared uncomprehendingly at the instrument in question. Finally, she breathed out, "I might. Why not?"

"Why not indeed!" Rising to his feet, he helped her stand as well. "Let's get someone to fix up the piano and some help with other necessary..." he glanced at the rest of the conservatory, "...you know what, never mind that. I'll just clean it myself! It would be of no trouble at all." 

He added that last part quickly before she could even think to protest.

"Come," Holding her hand, Charles guided her towards the doors, "I can spruce up this place by tomorrow morning and then, once the piano is in a playable condition, you can use it."

"This is all too much!"

Looking back at the piano, Gabrielle relaxed into a smile and said, "Alright, but you have to let me help you clean up, okay? No but's! If this has to happen then I'd rather we do it together, Charles. You and me."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

✦✹✧    

 

 

 

 

 

Ten years should be enough; ten measly years of joy against a lifetime of more regrets, ones he would have to carry on with yet again for those who perished in his stead.

In the ten years since he escaped the camps with Magda, he was happy in ways he thought he's forgotten. Guarantees of safety were rare in this bleak shadow of a world; Erik had lived through enslavement himself, and there was a high cost for such living. 

Freedom had not been easy at first. Memories of compiling the carcasses of people he had stripped then burned the remains of still haunted him most nights, and it was her who held him when these nightmares plagued. Sometimes they'd have their eyes open, hollow sockets that stare up at him, pleading they would be spared. Other times they have blue or green or brown eyes that are soaked in tears. Their jaws would hang ajar, mouths noiseless in their begging. And through it all Erik would still remove their clothes then slide the gurney towards the awaiting inferno. 

Their silence was worse than any scream.

But the most awful part was not the nightmares but rather the times when they do not come at all. He would lay unable to sleep next to Magda until the stench of burning flesh would just fill his nose and lungs. As soon as Erik turned his head to the side so he could reach for a glass of water, he would then glimpse Klara rising from a corner. Frozen, he could only watch as she limped, never once breaking eye contact. He just knew, even without looking, that one of her socks was drenched in something black. 

Once she's inches away from his face, she'd whisper,  _Warum_.

This had gone on for two months until Magda came home from her work one night to tell Erik she was with child. He was only sixteen while she was nineteen, but if they could make it through the death camps, then surely parenthood wouldn't be as grievous. 

And so ten years of raising Anya and watching her grow up had been the long-awaited rain in the drought of his miserable life. The veil of suffering has been lifted at last as the nightmares and Klara's ghost have both ceased. Magda was also laughing more and singing happy songs on her lute. Life flourished. Life was good.

Ten years. That's all the time of bliss he had with his new family before he lost everything again.

 

 

 

 

 

✦✹✧    

 

 

 

 

"Look at you!" Charles can't help but poke fun at Raven at the moment, particularly when she's having one of her seasonal mood swings, "You're redder than that gown. And here I thought you're cut out for this."

Raven glared at him as if she meant to strike him down with lightning instead. But she managed to compose herself just in time to reply, "Eat my fucking farts, Charles  _Marko_!"

She emphasized his fake surname through gritted teeth so that she would look like she's smiling as Gabrielle approached their pair seconds later. "Gabs!" she hugged the other woman once and then pulled away to admire the green dress she had on, "I knew this one would be perfect for you."

Shooting Charles another glare, she added, "I bet you wish I was saying that about you, but too bad because I know for a fact Gabs can do better than your sorry ass!"

"It's only seven o'clock and you two are back to your sibling bickering again?" Gabrielle chuckled under her breath though she warily observed her two companions in case they keep going.

"Sorry, you're right! Excuse the rivalry," Raven retorted with a playful gleam in her eye. There was a new radiance to her that Charles rarely witnessed, the kind which made him forget she was once an isolated creature who treated everyone as a means to an end so she can eat and survive another day. 

Gabrielle looked down on herself, "How long will this charity event take?"

"Why? Do you have to be somewhere? Maybe you actually plan on sneaking in a real date right under our noses, hmm?"

"Why would you even say that?" Gabrielle looked back at Raven with an uncharacteristic defensiveness which both Charles and his sister picked up on.

"I was kidding!" Raven slid her hand on the other woman's arm, "Come on, let's dazzle together. I know this isn't your scene and all, but I would love to introduce you to a few friends of mine who have very fat purses and like to hear a story why they should lessen that fat for what we have to offer."

"Don't make it sound so sleazy," Charles trailed after them. He wanted to take Gabrielle's other arm at first but realized it might be too forward. He would never want to presume they're in an actual date together with romantic overtones. Besides, there was something about how she reacted to Raven's jest moments ago that he couldn't shake off. Now, he had vowed to himself (and Raven) that he would not be using his telepathy anymore while they're in Israel unless there's an emergency, but it also meant that Charles felt somewhat crippled without it. Navigating social situations like any normal person felt like real work to him, something he supposed he should just take as a challenge.

He spent a good hour of unfortunately tedious socializing in which he charmed everyone as best as he could so that everyone has only the most positive impression of Raven's benefit. Although he did tease her earlier for the panicked way she came at the entrance to berate on him about something so innocuous, Charles was very proud of the work she has accomplished tonight. He should let her know that once she wasn't so preoccupied playing hostess and moderator. 

The glass of scotch on his hand was almost empty so he poured himself another one. He's made friends with the bartender which was why he's now freely serving himself alcohol without the courtesy of asking for it from the other side of the bar. Of course, he was careful not to overdo it; he has Sharon's genes after all, and he could potentially end up having a far too intimate relationship with booze much like Mother.

It was while he was taking a leisurely sip when he noticed Gabrielle looking behind her shoulder before disappearing into one of the doors that leads to the garden. He stood there blinking for a while as he tried to figure out whether or not he should follow after her. That seemed like it would cross a line if he did. Two months might have passed since he encouraged her to take up music therapy, but in all that time neither truly defined anything between them other than the fact that she's a patient and he's part of the hospital staff who's tasked to look after her. There has to be a code of ethics for that sort of thing.

Fifteen minutes passed. And then twenty. Thirty. No sign of Gabrielle at all.

That should have been enough time for Charles to decide that he could lower a few of his mental defenses to gauge at least her exact location. He told himself he was just making sure she was safe and that nothing bad was happening to her, but he made a vow he intends to keep. 

"Hey, Daddy-yo," Raven startled him when she just loudly giggled into his ear as her arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Don't. You. Ever," he emphasized each word with full-stops before he turned to face her, "...call me that again. Are you drunk already?"

She just laughed some more and then pulled him to a secured spot away from others. As soon as they're concealed enough, Raven then morphed into Gabrielle, a perfect imitation of the woman right down to the green dress she was wearing for the evening.

"What are you doing?" Charles grabbed her gently by the elbows, "Shift back!"

"I knew it!" she pointed a finger at him, still in her Gabrielle impression, "You're flustered! I knew you've developed feelings for Gabs the moment you started having piano lessons with her!"

"Come off it!" He retorted as he pulled them further into another spot that's more secluded, "And can you not spontaneously change your appearance especially when we're in public?"

"I can't control it all the time."

"Of course you can. You're even better with your mutation than I am with mine."

"Now that's bullshit."

Raven (as Gabi) rolled her eyes and transformed again, this time as Sharon, citing, "This is still my most favorite disguise. Remember that night? When I pretended to be the mother you never had?"

"That's enough, Raven."

Charles knew she wasn't trying to be unkind, but it still hurt to be reminded of that night. Feelings he long buried alongside a better part of his childhood surfaced right now just by looking at Raven as Sharon. She was the perfect doppelganger save the eyes. Raven was warmer than she wanted the world to believe, with a heart that doesn't bleed as easily as Charles' but just as stout and with plenty of room to occupy. He saw it in her eyes that same night when she has sung to him and held him until they both fell asleep.

"I'm sorry," she morphed back to her blonde-haired persona once more and embraced him for a while. "I guess I took the teasing way too far. If I ever do that to you again, you have my permission to paralyze me with your mind control thing."

"First of all, don't call it that," he pulled away with a smile tugging at his lips, "Secondly, I would never try to control you using telepathy, not even if I have to."

"And what if I do something bad?" Raven stared at him with a rather serious expression on her face, "What if you're the only one who can stop me?"

Charles sighed before he pressed his forehead against hers, "The thing is, Raven, I don't think you're capable of doing bad things as much as you want everyone to believe. I've seen you— all of you—and trust me when I say that there's a lot more to love than anything else."

 

 

 

 

 

✦✹✧      

 

 

 

 

 

The conservatory was draped in shadows, spread out by the light of a lamp on top of the grand piano. 

Erik sat on the sofa facing the main door. He was cold. He's been cold for a while no matter how many layers he wore and even when the weather wasn't chilly. The fatigue was carved deep in his bones, rotting through a mind barely able to retain anything aside from battered bruises and the mission at hand.

Whatever this was, whatever short reprieve he found in this place and with that woman, would be nothing more but another fleeting instance. There was hardly anything tangible for him to hold onto except the knife-like grief and thirst in his heart for a vengeance that must be paid.

"I'm sorry this took a while," The woman Haller came in with a tray of replenishment. Erik watched her as if he's still seeing her from a distance, a mirage in the desert.

She placed the tray on the table and then sat on the opposite side, facing him with that same pained smile that hardly ever reached her eyes.

"What was that? Back there?" he meant the party she obviously came from since she was all dressed up.

"A benefit for the hospital. We're trying to find donors," she wrapped her pink shawl more tightly around her.

Erik began to eat without saying another word for the next five minutes.

"Max," Haller spoke when the silence became unbearable for her, "Don't you think it's time? It's been a week now. Listen, okay? This facility is one of the best in the country, and with your history, they would never turn you away, Max. They took care of me and I've been doing better since. Besides, I can't house you here in secret forever. Not when my friend Ch—Mr. Marko, comes here every once in a while."

"Then I'll deal with him."

This time her expression hardened. She balled her hands into fists. Quietly yet with firmness, she warned him, "You wouldn't dare."

"Not like that," Erik eyed her with a small smile that's frugal in its sincerity, "You said he's a friend, so I'm not going to do what you seem to think I'm capable of, just because of one incident long ago and under very different circumstances. I'm not that boy anymore, Hal."

He paused just to chew. Afterwards, he inquired pointedly, "And you? Are you still the same girl the soldiers used to pass around the barracks, the one they jeered as their Mary Magdalene?"

That was harsh, and he knew it, but Haller shouldn't expect anything remotely kind to come from Erik at this point especially after he had informed her of the recent bereavement he was still dealing with. She sat there glaring at him for several moments before she stopped gripping her shawl too hard and instead looked away to rest her eyes on the piano.

"My friend," she spoke, "He said that for every rotten one, there's a hundred more good; and a thousand more if we become good ourselves first."

Erik sipped his brandy. The heat of it settled on his throat, making him feel warm for the first time since his daughter's blood splattered on his face three months ago. With a steely gaze, he remarked, "You love him."

It was a plain statement. He was looking for neither denial nor confirmation. Haller provided none as well.

"You need to let us help you, Max."

"I'm strong," he declared with an undercurrent of fury emphasizing each word, "Stronger than the rest of you."

She stood up abruptly to waltz towards a window. Sighing, she glanced at him over her shoulder, "I've seen what you can do with that strength—the things Dr. Schmidt made you do. But we were just kids—all of us were, even Magda. She believed you were still good though, even after what you did to your—"

"I have no wish to stay in the purgatory of the past," he pushed away the half-eaten serving of food and then gulped the rest of the brandy. Staring at the curve of Haller's back, Erik added, "Clearly we both know she's wrong about that. My wife, who I used to believe was my salvation, turned me away after she saw I could actually do worse than I've already had."

"You've both lost a child, Max," Haller approached him with cautious steps and slowly placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact made him suck in his breath as he shook it off immediately.

"I've lost two people that night," he retorted and then slammed the glass on the table with a force that would have broken it if only he applied more pressure, "So don't you fucking tell me it wasn't because I'm not rotten myself!"

"You can't actually believe that. You can't just say that you're being punished for something you had no control over, for being Jewish, and for having...having those abilities."

He didn't dignify that with a reply and instead watched the shadows dance and swallow the world around him. Leaning away from the sofa's backrest, Erik waited for Klara's ghost to come to him once more. Maybe this time, when she asked her question, he would have the right answers to grant her soul peace.

Meanwhile, Haller stood on the same spot without moving a muscle. For a second to eternity, they remained suspended in time like that, just two strangers inside a dimly-lit place with little barrier to separate them from their shared monsters.

Another agonizing moment of stillness passed before she said, "Stay for awhile. Let me be your friend."

 

 

 

 

 

✦✹✧        

 

 

 

 

Thirty minutes was long enough. Charles was now alarmed.

He slipped out of the party whilst Raven busied herself announcing the names of donors by the podium.

A vow is a vow, but if something bad was taking place somewhere, he would never be able to physically reach Gabrielle in time and his best chance to protect her was by channeling his powers.

Charles found a spot among the hedges in the garden and focused on locating her. With two fingers resting on his temple, he scoured every inch of the buildings around the vicinity. It took him less than a full minute to find her, safe back in the conservatory. The first thing that hit him was the flowing gush of her piano-playing. It was a sound that made him tingly and sad all at once, right down to his toes. 

He almost forgot why he did this in the first place, so captivated he was by the music that was as knee-buckling as her scent, her very smile. 

But that was until he came upon somebody else there with her. There was brandy on his breath and a restlessness vibrating all over this man's body that was at once dangerous and benign. Charles found himself stepping forward, blinded by everything else that he almost tripped on something from the ground. This man's mind was as rough as callouses on hands that only knew grueling labor, and where most people have pathways leading to their innermost thoughts, his have one towering wall after another, which are then surrounded by iron-clad fences that pricked Charles as soon as he even tried to deepen a connection.

He reeled back and stumbled onto a nearby bush as he did. Thankfully, he grabbed it just in time before he fell apart because for the first time in a decade he was frightened all of a sudden.

What was that? That consuming rage with a pain like calcite deposits buried on the marrow? How could one man store such hate and loneliness and not  _break_?

Even Kurt Marko's mind isn't this twisted.

Against his better judgment, Charles tried again but he was careful and instead merged himself with the sound waves of Gabrielle's music so he can disguise his entry. The man seemed to be listening to her music so intently that some of his defenses were not on guard about it, and so the telepath took that route in order to further examine his mind.

He realized upon second attempt that he was wrong.

This man's mind wasn't a malicious thing. It was strong, stronger still in all its darkness and what little light that has survived, fighting with every last breath to never allow itself to perish. The ghouls feasted on the cracks where the wounds won't heal, but there is lush growth too, flowers on unmarked graves. Charles floated atop a field of corpses, with some of them of people this man never wanted to forget, and that love was red as the blood they shed; a love as vibrant as the petals of a rose worthy of the thorns that guard it.

The telepath squeezed his eyes shut and heard Gabrielle somewhere whispering in fervent hope,  _This is for my friend Max_  as she played the last section of Busoni's Preludes.

And when Charles opened his eyes which have stung with tears, he understood that the man had another name, a name he still called himself because it was the one he grew up with—the last word his mother uttered before she was shot.

"Erik."

 

 

 

 

 

 

** Present **

 

 

"That," he tells Moira, "...is Erik."

Upon second encounter of the man's mind, he understands it couldn't be anyone else but him. Not a monster or vengeful menace, but someone almost like Charles, filled to the brim with love and consequence.

It was love too—love at first instinct—that made Charles dive headfirst into the terrifying seas, legs kicking madly against the arctic pressure and the strain of his muscles as he allows his mind to find Erik and meld with his, damning the pain that came along the thick thorns burrowing deep as soon as the connection is secured.

｢ Please, Erik ｣ he begs, wounding his arms around the man's taut body, giving everything he's got to anchor him so that the light Charles glimpsed within the jumbled mess of his head years ago does not extinguish once and for all.

｢ I need you to calm your mind ｣

He doesn't let go of the anger, not just yet, as images from the man's past assaulted Charles; a young Erik slicing through a steel gate by reaching with his hand from a distance; the same boy standing before a bespectacled man who held a pistol aimed at his mother; Erik as he was now but younger than a decade, cradling a dead child swathed in soot and blood.

｢ Please, Erik ｣ he repeats ｢ You'll drown ｣

And Erik means to. Charles heard his fatal wish to end it all right here at the depths of the ocean.

In one last attempt to get through him, the telepath hurriedly skims through any good memories and finds one of another older man smiling down as he held a four-year old Erik, saying:

_' Your name is Eisenhardt. We may change it now that we have arrived to this new country. But it will always be my name, Opa's name, and yours too. Do you know what it means? '_

Erik's resolve loosens long enough for Charles to swim up, pulling the other man's weight with him the entire time.

_' That's right, Magnus. It means as strong as iron. '_

Charles coughs as he chokes on his first gulp of breath again, his chest heavy with the permeating cold of the currents still splashing against him from all directions. He is losing nerve feeling on his limbs as he struggles to keep paddling. But all of that is unimportant. Instead he just fixed his eyes on the other man who had pushed him away as soon they've arrived to the surface.

"Who are you?" he demands. "You were in my head! What was that?"

He couldn't hear himself just yet and shouts, "I'm Charles Xavier. I'm a mutant, just like you."

Erik doesn't even look at him anymore and stares at the light coming from the ship across them. Blinking rapidly, he at last returns his gaze at the telepath. The confusion on his features spells it all but at least he's willing to stay long enough to listen.

"I thought..." he says, "I thought I was alone."

Charles just gapes at him, far too breathless to even say all the things he wanted to say now that he has found this man again. Years after the fact, he could suddenly hear Gabrielle playing Busoni, the music that connected both men on that night in Israel, like a lighthouse that shines upon anyone stranded or lost at sea. And if Erik was the half-wrecked ship, then Charles must be the island. 

How else could this meeting be explained?

"You're not alone," he tells Erik at the same time he reassures the child in him, in both of them.

"Erik—" Regardless of everything else, Charles declares, "You're not alone."

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, here we are. The succeeding letters would be set on the actual timeline of X-Men: First Class, with several alterations tailored to fit the version I want to weave. Certain flashbacks would still unfold here and there since there are still moments in both their pasts that will be revealed alongside the present timeline. I'm excited to keep going. I knew I took such a long break just to post this one, mainly because of other writing preoccupations outside of AO3. That said, I'll be making time for this next year in which I hope to post more regularly by then. Thank you for reading. Comments will be very much appreciated!


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